Saturday, May 22, 2010
parrot, curiosity, lazy
Sitting on a terrace, I watch a man with a pint of beer in front of him take a book from a plastic bag. He puts the book in front of him and takes a sip of beer. He picks up the book and reads the back cover. He opens the book from the front and reads the text opposite the fly leaf. It is a paper back. I suspect that it is a Penguin Classic. There is a picture on the front cover. But the title? I can't quite read it. He turns to the first page. It is yellow with with age. I strain my eyes and try again to learn the title of the book, but he reads on ignorant of my curiosity. It is a condition from which I suffer, to know what people are reading. I still don't know and now will never know what the man is reading. I see him now reading peacefully, sipping his beer. I have to be content with this picture, and suddenly I think that I am.
In The Grove, I pass a woman who is sitting at the top of a gentle slope. As I approach, an energetic Jack Russell brings her a ball and drops it beside her hand. Without looking up from her book, she picks up the ball and throws it as far as she can, which, because of her almost prone postion, is not very far. The dog pursues the ball with an energy and address which her slap-happy throw does not deserve. Back comes the dog and the process is repeated.